


crispy man talks to himself the squeakuel

by bloodiedglass



Category: GHOST | GHOST and Pals (Musician)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:08:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25103695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodiedglass/pseuds/bloodiedglass
Summary: i just got bored and wanted to write some Crispy Rambling. also, for context my interpretation of chris came about before i Ever found out there were More characters in the distortionists story than just him and his victim so he's just kind of seething alone in a spooky abandoned mansion that he Cannot Leave because idk, ghost shit. it's midnight as i made this so if it Fucking Sucks, that's why
Kudos: 16





	crispy man talks to himself the squeakuel

160\. one hundred sixty years i've been alone. or mostly alone, at least. i wouldn't count the rats, or bugs. or the teenagers trying to impress their annoying little friends by spending a night in a haunted house. 

it really does a number on the psyche, you know? alone with your thoughts, and nothing but your thoughts. quite the emotional rollercoaster. 

i've flip-flopped on whether or not i regret what i've done for a while. i've spent nights praying for forgiveness, and others cursing any god that would listen for keeping me here. in the end, im not sure any of it matters.

what's done is done.

it sounds rather mean of me but i can't truly see my actions as wrong. i know that they were, i'm not stupid. and yet... 

i just cannot bring myself to see them as a person anymore. maybe they never were. an object of jealousy, perhaps. a punching bag. _an outlet._

ha. i sound like a prick, don't i? 

whatever. it's not like there's anything to be done about it now. they're long dead by now. _i'm_ long dead. 

hm. can't help but wonder what became of them. how did it happen? old age? plague? perhaps they ended up offing themselves after all. ha ha.

how long do i have to stay here? it's a question that's been stuck in my head since i began this rotten existence. how long is long enough? it cannot be eternal, clearly. one day there will be no earth left to haunt.

but what then? do i remain? do i become truly, utterly alone? isolated, unable to even scream my frustration anymore? cursed to wander the void until the last star burns out and i am alone, alone, alone...

ha ha ha. one hundred sixty. is that really it? have i even been keeping track of time properly? somehow i feel it's been both a day and an eternity since i was human. since things had meaning.

though, it's not as if being human was all sunshine. but it was better than _this._ sometimes i wish i'd never been born at all. or at least, that i'd been born as anyone but me.

christopher, christopher, christopher. most abhorrent man there ever was. ha ha. 160 years humanity's been free of the disgusting stain that was Christopher Pierre. bastards better be thankful..

awfully boring, existing like this. feels like i'm going mad. or maybe i already have, it's really not for me to say. ah.

i cannot wait for the day this dreadful mansion has enough rot to finally, finally collapse.


End file.
